Watcher Prompt Contest!

Hi all!

In honor of our new blog home, and to make up for that Week of Silence thanks to the attacks on LiveJournal a couple of weeks ago, we’re hosting a prompt contest!

All you have to do is write something original based on the prompt below, and post it to your blog or Facebook where other people can read it. It can be a story, a poem, flash fiction – anything you like! Link back here in the comments, and you’re entered!

We’ll randomly select a winner for THESE AMAZING PRIZES:

The deadline is this Friday at midnight CST. We’ll announce the winner on Saturday…. and then next week, Brenna, Maggie and I will each post a story that WE write, based on the same prompt. Brenna on Monday, me on Wednesday, and Maggie on Friday, the way we used to post back in 2008 when The Merry Sisters of Fate first began!

Here’s your prompt, “The Turret Stairs” by Frederic Burton:

Have at it! 😀

80 thoughts on “Watcher Prompt Contest!

  1. The shadows come by slowly weeping.
    Leaving this angel hollow and weeping.
    Oppressive words that were spoken,
    Left this angel hollow and broken.
    Eyes once filled with bliss,
    Stolen with a final kiss.
    Melancholy replaced the gleam.
    If only this was a noxious dream.

    Original work by JessieKnite

      • Thank you!

        I took the title of “Watcher” and tied it into an existing story I wrote quite some time ago. Coincidentally, there is a group in that story named “the watchers,” so it ended up going hand in hand beautifully.

        Glad you enjoyed it 🙂

  2. Hidden in the shadows, they sneak away.
    Hand in hand, they run up the stairs.
    A fair maiden, destined for a noble,
    and a knight, on his way to battle.
    A kiss stolen, so sweet, so gentle.
    A promised made; to return, to come back alive.
    Yet inside, she knows. He knows.
    It will never be.
    If only time was on their side.

  3. The knight covents what he shouldn’t want,
    The maid wants what she can’t have,
    Causing them both to weep,
    Knowing that their love will never be allowed,
    So they sneak stolen touches,
    And hope that they will be able to
    Tide over their love.

  4. What if I don’t have a blog or facebook account? Can I just leave it in the comments here?

    • I don’t think this would be a problem as some of the poems are here (you might want ot make it short though!).

      btw – I can’t read any of the facebook entries as you have to log in as the writer. I’m I missing something?

      • As long as you are logged into a facebook account, your own?, you should be able to see them, unless the person posting has privacy settings on. I was able to read most of them.

  5. This Forbidden Love

    They sneak away together in the dark night

    Must not let anyone discover their secret

    They know what they’re doing is not right

    Between a fair maiden and a knight

    Day by day living in fear

    Even if for only a moment

    They find a way to be near

    They can’t bare being in secret much longer

    Can’t they make anyone realize

    They’re love for each other is stronger

    Stronger than any other love out there

    I have no fb or blog so I have to do it this way

  6. Love is forbidden
    Secrets too
    But i do both
    Because im in love with you
    We shared a forbidden kiss
    On the stairs where we met
    Im a knight and your the one i will never forget
    Whatever happens with me and you
    Just always remember that i love you.

  7. “The Turret Stairs”

    The museum was busy that day.
    But Molly kept up.
    Well….as best she could.
    “You’re such a slow poke!” cried Sharon, frustration dripping heavily in her voice. That’s why Molly liked Sharon so much. She was like an older sister, even if it was just her height that really made a pronounced difference between them. Molly walked as fast as her feet could carry her behind Sharon. She was practically nipping at Sharon’s heels.
    “We’ve lost them! That’s just perfect! Great!” Sharon might as well have said this out loud, but instead she muttered it under her breath like a curse. Molly could sense Sharon’s tenseness. They never paid real money to get into the museum. They always snuck in with another group. That’s why Sharon was so tense. They hadn’t been caught thus far, but Molly and Sharon both could sense that the lady working the front desk had suspicions. They had caught her evil eye one too many times for their comfort. Today they were following an art class from a community center. They had been perfectly hidden behind hipster wannabes and elderly couples. That is until Molly’s attention had been drawn away by a stray shoe lace. One moment, perfectly camouflaged, the next, exposed and vulnerable.
    “At last!” chirped Sharon victoriously. Their “group” stood in front of a painting of a knight and a maiden in a tower. Sharon stopped so suddenly it as though she had never been walking in the first place. Molly crashed haphazardly into her. “Watch it!” hissed Sharon giving Molly her own version of the evil eye.
    The cheery woman in the front began to gesture at the painting. Words were flowing from her mouth like they were rehearsed. (In fact, Molly and Sharon had once seen someone practicing in a dark hallway.) Neither Molly nor Sharon knew what the woman was saying but apparently it was interesting everyone. After the “oohhs” and “ahhhs” were finished the group began to waddle slowly like cattle being herded to the next exhibit.
    Molly walked closer to the painting; like it was drawing her in. “We have to move!” scolded Sharon. “Come on Sharon! We never stop to look! What’s the point of sneaking in and stuff if we never get to look?” pleaded Molly.
    “Fine! But just for a minute or two!”
    Molly had seen people look at paintings before. They always turned they head from side to side or looked up to down. Sometimes they would hold their chin in an intellectual fashion. Molly had never looked at a painting before. She decided that copying what everyone else did seemed like a good idea. She looked from the top of the frame to the bottom. She looked from side to side. She placed her hand under her chin and squeezed her eyes and leaned into the painting.
    “You look ridiculous” interrupted Sharon.
    “I’m trying to look! It’s harder than it . . . .looks! You try!”
    Sharon sighed, “Whatever.” Sliding herself by Molly’s side she tilted her head up and looked. She gazed at the knight lovingly kissing the maiden’s arm. Then she looked at the maiden hiding herself away from the knight’s gaze. Why is she so sad? Sharon thought. However, it wasn’t a thought as Molly turned toward Sharon and said “Maybe it’s ‘cuz she doesn’t love that man.”
    “But he’s kissing her!”
    “That doesn’t mean she loves him!”
    “No wonder she’s sad, she’s obviously in trouble.”
    “Maybe it’s like Beauty and the Beast.”
    “What?” said Sharon in a very questioning manner.
    “I mean, maybe the knight looks hot. But really he’s mean and horrible and-“
    “That has nothing to do with Beauty and the Beast.”
    “Whatever! It’s like forced marriage or something. Everyone had to do that back then.”
    “Then who’s her real love? Her true love? Where the heck is he?”
    “How am I supposed to know? Maybe he was a real knight and had to go on an adventure. Like slaying a dragon or saving another damsel.”
    Sharon looked longingly at the painting, yearning for answers. Was that why people came to the museum? To find answers to the questions they found in the paintings?
    “Sharon! Hello! Are you listening?”
    “Sorry. . . .I was. . . .nevermind. We should go.”
    “We can stay if you like. There’s a bench.”
    “Yeah ‘cuz benches are so great! We can go look at something else.”
    “You mean we can look?”
    “I mean-“
    “The museum will be closing in 15 minutes.”
    “I mean” began Sharon, “That we should go and then come back tomorrow.”
    “Alright. But you promise we’ll come back right? I mean we still don’t know her story.”
    “I’m not sure we ever will Molly. Let’s go.”
    The museum’s crowds were waning. Sharon and Molly walked side by side through the exhibits toward the exit. As they walked Molly smiled to herself, like she had just won the greatest prize of her life. That’s why Sharon liked Molly. She was a dreamer; her head was always in the clouds. That’s why Molly kept Sharon around. So she’d have someone to pull her back down every now and then. But Sharon had tasted what it felt like; letting her imagination run free. It was the first time she let herself join Molly in the clouds and it wasn’t going to be her last.

  8. I’ve composed an original – if not somewhat ad lib – song on piano called “A Thousand Ghosts of Winter” to accompany the above painting. Wrote a (very) short story too, I’m not sure which to sumbit…so I’ll post the link to my music just because…I don’t know, just because.

    Hope you enjoy it, whoever ends up listening, and thanks for a truly wonderful short story blog and for being awesome individuals who write fabulously inspiring stories for the world to read.

  9. By midnight she sits by the window, counting stars
    Waiting for his footfalls on the turret stairs
    She is alone, held captive by all but bars
    Until her knight comes, as no one else dares
    Each night he saves her; they ride off together into the dark
    But when the sun rises, he must lock her away, back into her tower
    She is alone again; it mightn’t have happened, for the knight left no mark
    Yet by day she will think of him, hour after hour
    He helps her forget all her wasted sorrows, broken dreams,
    And that she is imprisoned only for wanting love
    The knight is her freedom, the one for whom the sunlight gleams
    He brings her hope and peace, like the wing of a dove.
    Under night’s blanket he is realer than most,
    But when she opens her eyes, he is only a ghost.

  10. Well, this turned out different… It’s not that good but I had so much fun writing it. Here it is:

    I will forever keep this picture in minds sight
    of my love on these turret stairs bathed in moonlight.
    You are my bright star, my shinning light
    if only we could go back to yesternight.
    The longer i stay the more i wish i could choose flight over fight
    but there, calling me out, is the dragon in sight.

    Now, my brave knight.
    I must leave for it is almost midnight
    I shall go fight
    for it is my birthright
    but If i should not return by dawns light
    know that I fought with all my might
    to protect this kingdom from plight.

  11. I couldn’t do it through a blog or facebook so here is my story for the contest.

    They stand there frozen, she turning away, he holding her hand insistent. Viviane watches them, silent and still, peering through the peephole in the wall. He whispers, telling her to reconsider, telling her that he will have two fast horses ready in the stable at midnight for them no matter what she says. She murmurs faintly of her duty, he of his love and they continue to argue, but Viviane has seen all she needs to see. She slips away through the hidden passageway and makes her way up the spiral stairs to the spymaster’s office. Sir Kai sits there, his face heavy with lines that were not there twenty years ago when Arthur’s court first moved to Camelot. He was young and carefree then, when Arthur had first come to his throne and wed his beautiful young queen Guinevere, when all of England rang out with joy and eagerly anticipated the birth of a royal heir. When Merlin was strong in his magic and no knight of the Round Table would have dreamed of betraying his king. Now there is no heir and likely to be none, Merlin is gone, whispers of treason linger in the crevices of the castle, and gossips say that the queen is unfaithful. Camelot is crumbling at the edges and the story of it is etched into Sir Kai’s face.

    Viviane drops to her knees before Sir Kai and salutes him. He looks up from his parchment and spares her a brief smile. He’s fond of Viviane; most people are. “What news have you brought?” he says, his voice expecting the worst.

    “Sir, I have proof of Sir Lancelot’s treason,” she gasps, “A conversation between him and the Queen, heard with my own ears and caught in the necklace.”

    “Surely, you are not serious, Viviane. All know that Sir Lancelot loves the queen but to commit treason for her…”

    “Here, sir. Listen to their conversation for yourself.” she unclasps the amber pendant from her neck and offers it to him. Many years ago, Merlin devised these pendants, capable of trapping sound the way that honey traps a fly. Sir Kai takes it and holds it to his ear. When he is done, another line has etched itself into his face.

    “I will take this to the king. This is grave news and I thank you for bringing it to me as soon as you heard it. You may go.” he dismisses her and she runs to her chambers as quickly as she can. There is someone else who needs to hear this news. Viviane digs to the bottom of her clothing chest and lifts up the false bottom that holds vials that glow unnatural colors, bits of silver worked into twisted knots, bundles of rowan branches held together with colored thread, dried herbs, salt, all the tools of a witch’s trade. A small silver hand mirror rests there too and she lifts it out and breathes it out. The surface mists over and then the slight fog of her breath turns to thick white fog swirling around a cliff top reflected in the mirror. Viviane’s teacher sits on the cliff top, the purple cloud of her power crackling around her. Then she stirs from her trance and the face of Morgan le Fay fills the mirror.

    “Madame, even now Lancelot seeks to convince Guinevere to flee with him and leave Camelot far behind. They leave at midnight on horseback. I have already told Sir Kai and he may be telling the king at this moment.” Viviane reports, waiting for either praise or condemnation. Five years ago, Morgan found Viviane making her living as a fortuneteller, traveling from town to town and being thrown out of half of them for her knack of telling fortunes they did not want to hear. Morgan saw faery blood in Viviane’s strange purple eyes and trained her in the ways of witches, in the herbs and potions and seeing stones. Three years ago, Morgan sent Viviane to Arthur’s court to spy for her, to search for little chinks in the armor, cracks in the wall of Camelot they can widen. Sir Kai decided that Viviane would make a good spy too and ever since then she has spied for two, bringing tales to Morgan and then Kai or Kai and then Morgan. One seeks to mend the cracks, one seeks to widen them, and Viviane is no longer sure what she seeks.

    “You should have told me first, but well done.” Morgan says. “Arthur has refused to believe that his queen is unfaithful. This will darken his mind both against her and his best knight. You’ve learned much since you first came to me.”

    “Thank you, Madame.” Viviane bends to wipe the mirror clean and break the connection.

    “Wait.” Morgan commands. “Tonight, Lancelot and Guinevere must not escape. There should be a fight too. Perhaps Lancelot should kill his son…see to it.”

    “Yes, Madame.” Viviane wipes the mirror clean and Morgan vanishes. Then she runs, her mind clouded and confused but with one thing clear–she must find him. She runs through the narrow passageways, up the winding stairs, along the tower ramparts. Finally she hears her name. “Viviane!” he calls and walks toward her, “What are you doing up here?”

    “I have a message to give you, one that you must pass on to your father.” she says, knowing that after this neither of her masters will forgive her. “Tell him to abandon his plan to leave tonight with the queen. Tell him that Kai knows and the king may know by now.”

    “So the stories about my father and the queen are true then.” he stares at her, disbelieving, “But my father swore allegiance to the king twenty years ago. He would not commit treason for anything.”

    “Love makes people do strange things.” she grabs his arm, “Please trust me. People will die tonight if you do not stop him–I know it–you will die. And I cannot let that happen.” She blushes, sure that she has said too much and turns away, trying to flee up another set of stairs. But he takes her arm and says, “You know that I must be pure, Viviane. The grail will not come to those who have an earthly love.”

    “I know it all too well. But if you cannot love me, do not kill me. For if you die, I suspect it would kill me too. And I am already half dead.” she replies and pulls her arm free. “Go, go save yourself and the court besides.” Then she leans forward and kisses Sir Galahad the Pure and for a moment that neither of them should have been allowed he holds her. Then she goes, running up the tower stairs to the castle gate. She has the tools of her witch’s trade and a few coins in her pockets. She has a vial of poison, too. Whether it’s for her or Morgan, she does not know. But she knows he will live and so will Camelot for a few more days, a crack mended by a double agent who in the end could listen to neither of her masters.

  12. Oh, gosh, its after midnight… Actually its 11:48 here in the midwest… Does that mean its disqaulified?

  13. I notices that the facebook notes can not be seen if you are not on facebook. Does that also mean you have to be a friend to see them if it is private? Hope that the ladies can see mine and be able to read it.

  14. I don’t have anything to link you to…so I hope it’s okay that I post here.

    my spirit’s broken.
    don’t you know, affection and
    respect are lovers?

  15. (Told from the woman’s point of view)
    I cannot face him as he whispers secrets to me in a low muttering. He tells me that I am to meet him at midnight, the hour of secret love. Or, rather what he thinks is secret love. He is a good man, and I swear I am a good woman too. My whole body aches with sorrow when I think what will happen to him, but it is him or her. The best thing I can do is cut myself off from emotion. Be numb.
    Such short words to tell such a long story, I hope you can find good in my heart, but if you cannot I have no right to blame you.
    Goodbye my sweet.

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